Chapter 12
Caleb
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Roxanne says observingly beside me after I’ve spent the last few minutes staring up at her office’s ceiling.
“Guess I’ve got nothing to say today,” I shrug, not lifting my head off the couch’s cushion.
“Nothing?” She nudges her elbow softly at my side.
“Nope,” I reply with a loud pop of the ‘p’.
I watch her chew on her bottom lip from my peripheral while keeping my gaze fixed on the light fixtures in the ceiling.
“I highly doubt you’ve run out of things to say,” she teases, trying to uplift my spirits. “Though we’ve only been at this for a couple of weeks, you’re usually very vocal.”
“I warned you that my mouth runs away from me sometimes. Don’t come complaining to me now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She smiles. “In fact, I’ve become quite accustomed to it, hence why your sudden silence is… worrisome.”
“Is that your way of saying you like the sound of my voice, Roxie?” I finally turn my head her way and wiggle my eyebrows just to flirt with her a little.
“No, of course not.” She laughs as if the mere suggestion is all too ridiculous for her to even consider. “And why do you insist on calling me that absurd nickname? Is the name Roxanne really too much trouble for you to muster?”
“I like Roxie.” I pretend to pout.
“For the life of me, I can’t see why.” She laughs.
I don’t say anything to that. Because if I did, if I told her the real reason why I liked that nickname so much, she would have gotten up from the floor and walked back to hide behind the safety of her desk.
Roxanne… is such a grownup name.
Roxie feels more like a friend’s name—someone I don’t feel so self-conscious confiding in, which allows me to purge every wayward thought in my head. Roxie also sounds like a name belonging to a girl that I could actually have a shot with.
Roxanne, on the other hand, not so much.
A woman with such a grow-up name wouldn’t look twice at me.
A woman like that wants a man in her life—a grown-ass man.
And as we’ve covered in most of our sessions, I haven’t quite figured out how to grow up yet.
“Mute again, I see,” she states somberly when I return to my silent form. “Okay, why don’t we try something else then? How about you tell me what you did this weekend? That should be harmless enough.”
“I’d rather not,” I grumble, not wanting to recall the fiasco that was Fiona’s party.
“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Believe me… it was bad.”
“What happened then?” she queries curiously.
“If you must know, it was my youngest niece’s birthday last Saturday. Fiona turned one.”
“Wow. Okay,” she retorts hesitantly. “And how did you and your family decide to celebrate such an occasion?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. We celebrated it by pretending that her father wasn’t on a ventilator. That about covers the whole shit show.”
“I’m sorry, Caleb. That must have been difficult for you,” she says softly, her hand covering mine on the carpet, completely unaware that one touch is the closest I’ve gotten to receiving any sort of affection in months.
“It sucked not having Jack there. He’s all about celebrating his girls. He’s going to hate that he missed Fiona’s first birthday.”
“I’m sure he will,” Roxanne smiles warmly, allowing me to hold onto her hand a little longer. “Does your brother like parties?”
“Hell, no!” I laugh. “He hates them, but when it comes to his girls, he does just about anything, even attend his own parties. Do you want to know what part he likes most?” Roxanne nods, intrigued. “The thing my brother loves to do is to end a party by kicking every last motherfucker out of his place, sometimes even when it is just starting to get good.”
“Oh, my god. Well, that’s not very hospitable. Why would he do that?”
“The truth?” I hike up my brow really high. “Because he couldn’t go more than a couple of hours without putting the moves on his wife. To him, parties at his house were just one big cockblock. There’s a reason why Erin’s always knocked up. The minute my brother put a ring on her finger, he didn’t let up. So you can understand why he resented anything that would keep him from Erin for too long.”
“That’s actually sweet,” she coos, the golden flecks in her eyes twinkling brightly.
“It is, isn’t it? Just another thing I ended up ruining,” I mutter under my breath. “He must hate me.”
“Don’t say that, Caleb,” she quickly defends. “Especially when it’s not true.”
“How do you know? When you visited him, did Jack miraculously wake up and tell you that? No. He didn’t, so you don’t know,” I snap, pulling my hand from hers.
“You’re right. I don’t know. But I can make an accurate guess from everything you’ve told me about your brother. By your own accounts, Erin doesn’t blame you for the accident, so why do you feel Jack will?”
I pull up two fingers and say, “Two words—my mother.”
Her expression saddens me, but I don’t see pity in her eyes.
It’s like she knows that look on her would kill me.
“Is she still not talking to you?”
I shake my head.
“You have to be patient with her. She’ll come around eventually. Remember that everyone processes trauma and grief in their own way.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble. “Can we not talk about my mother? I’m not there yet.”
“Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”
I rummage through my brain to think of a topic that doesn’t involve unpacking my baggage, and when my eyes meet hers, I know just what I want to talk about.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Aren’t all the questions asked here on the personal front?” she jokes.
“Yeah, well, usually you’re the one holding the mic. I kind of want to have a crack at it.”
“Okay,” she laughs. “What do you want to ask me?”
“Was your husband like that with you? The way Jack is with Erin?”
“I… what…” she stammers, her eyes going wide in alarm.
“It’s a simple question, Roxie. Did you guys use every excuse in the book to fuck like bunnies or not?”
“I know our sessions are on the unorthodox side, but I would really prefer that we not discuss my sex life if you don’t mind,” she says evenly when she finally conquers her mortification.
“Do you even have a sex life? Inquiring minds would like to know.”
“That is none of your business, Caleb,” she mutters, getting up from the floor to sit down on the nearby chair next to the couch.
I follow her cue and stand up, too, but instead of lying on the couch, I sit by its edge and pull her chair by the arms, drawing her closer to me.
“Hey, no need to get so frazzled, Roxie. If it helps, I no longer have one either. Not anymore. I mean, used to. God, did I used to. There wasn’t a night when I didn’t find a girl and take her back to my place. Sometimes, even two at a time. And what’s more fucked up is that I didn’t even have to work that hard, either. They would just drop on my lap. It was like taking candy from a baby.”
“You’ve painted quite the picture. Now, how about you get on with it,” she protests.
“Yeah, right. My bad. Anyway, that was before. Now… it’s like my cock has officially hung up its jersey and retired, no longer interested in the game.”
Her eyes grow so wide that they look like her glasses won’t be able to keep them in their sockets.
“Roxie?”
“Sorry.” She clears her throat before taking the doctor’s approach to the problem. “Have you tried being intimate with anyone after the accident?”
“Intimate?”
“Yes.”
“You can call it fucking, Roxie.” I chuckle.
“I’d rather keep things on the professional level and call it by the name I feel comfortable with, if you don’t mind.”
I smile at her sass.
“No. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”
“Is that because the occasion didn’t arise?” she asks, writing my previous answer down in her notebook.
I slide my hand in my back pocket and bring up my phone.
“See this?” I ask, scrolling through the names on my contact list. “This phone right here makes it so that the occasion can arise any time I want. I’ve got more hookups waiting for a call back than friends. Does that answer your question?”
“I see. So what you’re telling me is that your sprout of celibacy isn’t for the lack of opportunity but more of a physical nature. Did I grasp that correctly? Can you not perform because you can’t get an—”
“Jesus Christ, Roxie. Do not say what you’re about to!” I shout, pointing a finger at her.
“An erection,” she finishes nonchalantly.
“I can’t believe you fucking said it. I refuse to talk to you about my hard-ons.”
“So that is a yes.” She jots it down, and I swear that I can almost see her smiling as she writes that in her little notebook of secrets. But when she raises her head from her book, her expression is all business. “I’m sure you know that there are plenty of pharmaceutical aids that you can use.”
“Jesus, kill me now,” I grumble while lightly punching my forehead with my closed fist.
“It’s more common than you think,” she continues to explain. “Though not so common for a man your age. Which leaves me to think it all comes down to a mental block. Once you get past it, then the body will perform as it previously did.”
I grab the arms of her chair and lean into her to look deep into her amber eyes.
“Roxanne,” I say, announcing every syllable of her name. “If I want to get hard, then I’ll get hard. There is absolutely nothing wrong in that department.”
“Denial.” She shakes her head at me in disappointment. “I see that we’ve gone back a step. How disappointing.”
“I’m not in denial,” I tell her forcibly, releasing my grip from the armchair and leaning back. “I’m just not in the mood to fuck some faceless woman right now.”
“As opposed to…”
You. I think, shocking myself to my very core.
Woah.
Where the fuck did that come from?
She must see her name written on my face, too, because before I can even open my mouth, she sprints out of her chair, practically running back to her desk.
“I know it’s an embarrassing thing to admit, but I have some brochures that you can take home with you,” she says hurriedly while grabbing them from one of her desk drawers. “Here. Take them home with you. Whenever you are ready to discuss this issue, I’ll be here to walk you through it.”
I grab the brochures from her hand and pick up my jacket as I head towards the door.
“Good talk,” I snide sarcastically.
“Agreed. We are making headway, even if you don’t see the benefits yet.” She offers a shaky smile. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Do I have a choice?” I groan, not daring to look at her beautiful face again.
Instead, I haul ass and get the hell out of there.
Since I’ve already seen Jack today, I decide to take a walk through the city, knowing it will do me some good. Maybe some fresh air on my face will get me to start thinking rationally.
But to my disdain, I’m still thinking about the last goddamn conversation we had, even though an hour has passed since I left her office.
I am not in denial.
If I wanted to bang some chick, I would.
The accident fucked up my head, not my cock.
Right?
Feeling like my manhood is under fire, I stride into the first bar I see to prove my point. I know I’ve been forbidden by my GM to come to a place like this and get my drink on, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Whiskey. Neat. And leave the bottle,” I order over at the bartender as I sit on a stool.
“Will this do?” he asks a minute later, handing me a bottle of Tennessee whiskey.
I stare at the bottle in my hand for a while, the whiskey inside it taunting me with its shimmering glow.
Despite not taking a sip yet, I can already tell it won’t hold a candle to how drunk I get whenever she lets me stare deep into her amber eyes.
“On second thought, bring me a cold beer. Whatever you have on tap,” I grumble, placing the bottle as far away as possible.
“Coming right up.”
Once I have the beer in my hand, I turn around and start scanning the happy-hour crowd, all excited to have finished their nine-to-five hustle for the day.
“Okay, asshole. Somewhere around here is a lucky lady just dying to get fucked. Just look, motherfucker. Just look,” I challenge myself.
Sure, I could call up one of my previous hookups, but they’ll end up asking me too many questions, which pisses me off.
How are you?
I haven’t seen you in so long.
How is your brother?
I heard you got benched. That must have been rough. Are you okay?
Yeah. The point of this whole exercise isn’t to talk.
I get enough of that with Roxie.
Now is not the time to be thinking about your therapist, you idiot!
Remember, it’s because of her that we’re here in the first place.
With new resolve, I scan the bar again, and this time, it takes me about two seconds for my laser focus to pinpoint a redhead at the end of the counter drinking Merlot all by her lonesome.
By the looks of it, she’s drowning her sorrows too.
Which means she’s an easy kill.
“Okay. Look alive, motherfucker. Don’t screw this up,” I mutter before drinking the rest of my beer, setting the bottle on the counter and walking over to her.
And surprise, surprise, not thirty minutes later, I have her pinned up to the bathroom stall, her lips hungrily devouring mine, while her fingers pull down my zipper. I don’t even remember if I got her name, but that doesn’t seem to put a damper on her night. In fact, by the way she’s sucking my tongue, a quick fuck in the bathroom was exactly what she was in the mood for.
But even though she says all those naughty words that I usually go gaga for, to my dismay, I feel absolutely nothing.
No, that’s not true.
I feel disgusted.
So very fucking disgusted with myself.
Her kiss feels all sorts of wrong.
Even her perfume feels out of place.
Everything just feels off.
And from the way my cock continues to be MIA, he knows it too.
Even on my worst nights when I was blind-ass drunk, I could count on my cock to deliver a great performance.
Now? He’s fucking nowhere in sight.
“Fuck,” I growl, zipping my pants back up.
“What?” the redhead asks, her eyes hooded.
“Don’t hate me, sweetheart, but I’m just not feeling it. Sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. Trust me, it’s fucking me,” I explain, crestfallen. “Apparently, I really am in fucking denial. Go figure?” I press a kiss to her cheek to soften the blow and then leave.
Once I’m outside the bar, I hail a cab home and text Erin to let her know that I won’t be able to make it back to her place to see the girls tonight. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask me why and just sends me a thumbs-up emoji.
Once I get home, I try to keep myself busy.
If I don’t, then I’ll spend the rest of the night obsessing over the fact that there is a good chance I’ll never get laid again.
After taking a long shower, I plop onto my couch and start flipping channel after channel, trying to find something that might numb my brain. I settle on a late-night comedy show and nestle in for the night.
Somewhere between the cheesy comedy and cold Chinese food in my fridge, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I can remember is being pulled into the dream that haunts all my nights.
Smoke.
Blood.
Death.
I wake up in a cold sweat, hating this to be my new norm now.
I can’t go one night without reliving that horrid accident.
Feeling parched, I head over to my kitchen and grab a glass of water from the sink. Usually, a bottle of whiskey would be my go-to move after a nightmare, but unfortunately for me, I drank the last bottle the night before.
So, water and a pill to relieve the ache in my arm will have to do.
Instead of trying to grab some shuteye on the couch again, I turn off the TV and head to my bedroom. If I’m going to end up waking up in a cold sweat in a few hours after another nightmare, I might as well make myself comfortable.
But as I lie in my bed, looking up at the ceiling, I’m reminded of another I’ve recently become quite accustomed to staring at.
But with that reminder comes another—I can no longer get it up.
Fuck my life.
Might as well put me in a coma next to my brother because if I can’t make love to a woman, then what the hell am I good for?
“Make love.” I laugh. “That’s just as bad as Roxie saying being intimate .”
But just as her face flashes before me, my cock starts to twitch.
“Well, hello,” I chuckle when the fucker starts stiffening after I give it a good tug.
Hmm.
Maybe I went about this all wrong.
Perhaps I should try and see if I can get hard on my own before I add someone into the mix.
What do I have to lose?
With this new plan in place, I quickly grab some lube from my bedside table, lather my right hand and prepare myself to start playing with my dick. I grab the phone with my left hand, strolling through some porn site videos to get me there quicker.
But wouldn’t you know it, my half-mast dick decides to go limp on me again, not impressed with anything I find.
Fucking asshole.
Needing to show the fucker who’s the boss around here, I throw my phone aside and close my eyes, summoning up dirty images that might get me going again.
But when I close my eyes, only one thing comes to my mind—Roxie’s face.
I recall, in precise detail, how her lips parted when I got into her safe space earlier this afternoon.
How her amber eyes sparkled whenever I made her laugh.
Roxanne Seymour is, by far, the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
She might try to hide it from the world, but she could never hide it from me.
Those long legs of hers. The full cups of her breast. Her long, slender neck.
Even the glasses she wears are a fucking turn-on.
Suddenly, and with little physical stimulation, I feel a massive rush of blood go directly to my cock, making it hard as steel.
I don’t even question what I’m doing anymore, giving myself entirely to the fantasy in my mind.
“Fuck,” I groan as I imagine her in front of me, licking her lips while crossing those long legs of hers.
She gets up from her seat and walks over to me, where I’m lying on her couch.
I watch her straddle me on a bated breath, slowly unzipping my pants and placing my cock in her hands.
“I’m here to help you. Do you need my help?”
“Fuck yes,” I breathe out as she starts to unbutton her blouse with one hand while jerking me off with the other.
Once her blouse meets the floor, giving way to a sheer lace bra underneath, I grab her tits with both hands, squeezing them tightly to the point that precum starts leaking all around her fingers.
I’m not even inside her yet, and I already feel like I’m about to combust.
“Does this help?” she asks, licking my precum off her fingers.
“Fuck yes.”
“What about this?” she questions, after discarding her bra to give me better access.
I know that it’s all in my head, but even in my own fantasy, I go fucking tongue-tied.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“Well? Does it?” She bats her thick, dark eyelashes at me under her black-framed glasses.
“Yeah, it helps. But you know what would really help the healing process move faster?” I say, breathless. “Your pussy strangling my cock. That right there is all the fucking therapy I’d need.”
“Is that so? Well, if you’re sure it would help,” she starts with that fucking coy smile she used on me today. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of progress.”
Not needing to be told twice, I rip Roxie’s panties to shreds and place my hard cock at her door within seconds. The minute I thrust deep inside her glorious pussy, every inch of my body tingles with elation.
“Fuck, baby. This is exactly what I needed.”
Roxie’s head lulls back in utter ecstasy, her skin glowing under her office lights.
She feels so fucking good riding my cock that as much as my heavy eyelids beg to close, I can’t bring myself to take my eyes off her.
“Come here, baby. Let me feel your lips on mine,” I grunt in between thrusts.
She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and leans down to me, letting me capture her lips with mine, her tongue tasting just as decadent as her pussy feels around my girth.
“Does kissing me help?”
“Yes,” I moan, desperate to kiss every inch of her.
“Do you want more?”
Yes. I want it all!
The smell of our arousal is so intense that I swear I can almost smell it hanging in the air of my own room as I fuck Roxie in my head.
“Roxie,” I call out her name as I imagine her nails sinking into my chest.
“Caleb.”
“Caleb.”
“Caleb.”
The sound of her moaning out my name only drives me more insane. And when she screams it to the high heavens while riding my cock within an inch of my life, I let go on a loud grunt, coming all over my hand and shattering the best fucking fantasy I’ve ever had in my twenty-three years of life.
I’m still breathing heavily, staring at the mess I’ve made, when the stark truth slaps me across the face—not only can I get hard, but I did it by fucking my therapist.
I guess all I needed was the right inspiration.
“Well, I be damned?” I laugh, feeling light for the first time in ages.
I fucked my girl so good in my mind that it took all the energy I had left to get out of bed and clean myself up in the bathroom.
My smile is still on my face when I return to my room and plop on the bed with my arms spread widely apart. And wouldn’t you know it, when my eyelids grow heavy this time, I let myself fall into a deep slumber without debate.
But what is more surprising still is that my nightmares never come.
Dreams about my brother dying in the accident don’t pay me a second visit like they usually do.
There’s no darkness, smoke, or speck of blood in sight.
Because tonight is the first night that I don’t dream about the horrors of the past.
I dream of her.
I dream of Roxie.
My Roxie.